


Reach for Truce

by yikes_dude



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, And they fuck things up along the way, Anxiety, I guess enemies to friends to lovers?, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Like really dang slow, M/M, Morty and Rick are in the same grade but Rick is a year younger, References to Drugs, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Smith family is falling apart and Rick can't support his family and hates it, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Summer is in the junior year, Tags will update as plot progresses, They both got problems, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Well they're not enemies but they're not friends, Where Rick is not related to Morty or the Smith family at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 09:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikes_dude/pseuds/yikes_dude
Summary: Morty, to everyone, is a hopeless case. He really tries to be a better person but he's failing with this all the time. He just wants his family and his life to be happy but things won't go in the ways he wanted. Nothing really did. And having Rick Sanchez find him crying in the toilet cubicle is definitely one of those things.





	Reach for Truce

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Lots of self-hatred, negative self-talk and mentions of suicide present throughout this chapter.

Bathroom stalls were never much of a comforting place to cry in, and Morty knew of this quite well. Maybe a little too well than what he would had liked. But with other people around outside, who either thought he was a punching bag or some random kid they never knew existed, it was either here in the squashed cubicle or outside where everyone could point him out as the _troubled_ kid. You know, the ones that are in those shitty high school plots where there is that one kid facing shit through their life, whether it be house-related or a mental illness or so forth; the one kid that seems to have absolutely no friends or isolates themselves to escape from their tormentors (bullies, parents or themselves); the one kid that everyone pities, that later probably develops into a better person because the protagonist of that plot just happens to be a saint and save them from their pitiful lives. Morty had that role done perfectly with the torment and angsty agony, but he had yet to meet the protagonist of his world enter his life and bring him out of his pathetic hole of emptiness and sorrow. He was, as Bob Ross (God bless his soul) once famously said, “waiting on the good times now”. Except this time, Morty has been waiting for roughly 1 year, 3 months and 5 days now for those good times. Well, technically 1 year, 3 months and 6 days, counting today, of course.

Roughly a week ago, Morty’s chemistry assignment returned to him with a yelling red mark that screamed at him for failing to write what was deemed adequate, and all Mr Rosner did was let out a heavy sigh before giving Morty a disappointed ‘please do try better next time’. And this really crushed him. Mr Rosner was one of the few nicer teachers to Morty, unlike Mrs Coletti or Mr Goldenfold, who openly expressed their given-up attitudes to him, and ultimately, destroyed Morty’s hopes of self-improvement. Mr Rosner, on the other hand, actually tried to help Morty out with whatever he needed. He had always told Morty that he was welcome to get some tutoring after school if he ever had trouble with his assignments or with any concepts he didn’t understand. But with stubborn anxiety that chanted endlessly about his neediness and his lacking capabilities, Morty denied of getting any help. And this was what brought him to be unable to do his assignment in the standard that was expected.

So, in his greatest efforts to make it up for Mr Rosner and prove that he wasn’t a hopeless case, Morty had decided to use as much time and effort as he could muster up before the coming Monday, (despite the fact that most of these days were spent destressing from the shouting between his mother and father through means of masturbation and procrastination), to produce something somewhat resembling a scientific report about the trends on the periodic table. Morty knew it wasn’t much of a great report but he hoped that it was okay enough; he was partially proud of himself for being able to churn out roughly 1500 words. And on the Monday morning when his period of History ended with the loud ringing of the school bell, he handed in the papers atop of the accumulated pile.

Morty squeezed his way through the masses to reach his locker. After turning his lock 5-28-14, he hauled his textbook and paced his way swiftly to his math class; Mr Goldenfold would spend at least ten minutes in lecturing about tardiness before making a speech about the importance of math, and then later going off at anyone who was being disruptive to the class. So much for his education. He took his usual seat at the back and allowed himself to drift off as more as more and more students came to fill in the classroom.

His eyes followed Jessica’s figure walking in and taking a seat in her usual seat at the front, continuing to watch as she brought out her textbook and began shopping on her phone. Her lips were glossed and pink, slightly puckered. God, they looked so delicious. If only they were on his lips or wrapped around his d—No. Stop. That was going someplace bad. Really bad. Jesus fucking christ, he was creepy. He shouldn’t allow himself to be like that. It was absolutely disgusting and he would be no better than Brad or Leroy, who’d attach their arms around her or make sexist remarks that would make her face contort in disgust or discomfort. Was he always like that? If he was, he had no excuse to make any snide remarks about them in his head if he were just as fucked as they were. Well, at least Brad and Leroy could account for their actions for being mainly popular and socially capable. If only he were a better person could he take her out and treat her in the ways she should be treated. If only he were better to actually talk to her and listen to her problems unlike her ex-boyfriend Jake. She could talk about anything like how her pet cat tipped a glass of orange juice over her mathematics worksheets that she needed for the Monday math period, and how she spent the past half hour crying and stressing over it because it was an exam and would be recorded in the reports, and Morty would be there to let her destress and tell her that the math exam on that Monday would be all oka-- Wait, Monday math exam? Morty shook himself out of his fantasy and found Anthony, his classmate in front of him, passing him the exam paper with a careless toss.  

“Okay everybody, you all have the rest of the period, which is roughly—” Mr Goldenfold glanced to the clock at the top of the whiteboard, “—fifty minutes, and only fifty minutes. Run out of time and that’s tough for you. No excuses.” Morty could’ve sworn he saw Mr Goldenfold’s eyes shift to him. “Five minutes reading time starts now.” There was a flurry of page-turning amongst the classroom. “No pens or pencils in your hands during reading time. I see your hand with a pen and it’s a zero for you.” With a brief scan around the room for any pen-holding, the teacher went to his desk and began searching through his laptop bag.

This left Morty alone to himself and his ever-so helpful brain. Okay, if he could calm down and start reading, maybe he could get his shit together and somewhat do some of the questions. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Breathe in. Breathe out. He turned the first page, glancing at the lines of bubbles briefly and turned to the next page. His eyes landed on the first question.

_Find the vaule of x in eth quteanio 4 = 2 + 3 - x7._

He frowned and read again.

_iFdn te aue f  in h iotnqeu x2 +  x =._

Fuck, he shouldn’t have stayed up so late for that damn report. If only he were more organised with time and didn’t have to masturbate all the bloody time and did that paper earlier. Fuck, dammit! He pressed his fingers into his forehead, feeling the wrinkles on his fingers. He massaged his head in futile attempts to stop the words and numbers from floating and mixing up. God, he should’ve asked for Mr Rosner’s help in the end so at least he had time to do math practice questions, but his stupid head… if he could have a day or two where it didn’t tell him how much he sucked shit then maybe he wouldn’t be in this predicament. If only he could stop being a piece of shit and do something with his miserable life. With a heavy sigh, he looked up over to Jessica; she had her back hunched over her desk. At least she did study or could actually do the work. Unlike him. Jesus, how could he ever think of her being with him? He can’t even do basic mathematics without reading a question or number wrong. He can’t even do anything right. She could do so much more than he could ever. Fuck. He didn’t deserve her.

“Okay, everybody, you may begin the paper.” Mr Goldenfold laid back in his chair and began to plug in his earphones into the audio jack. “If I catch you cheating, that’s a zero for you,” he said absentmindedly. He then proceeded to tap at his phone and chuckle quietly as everyone else hurried with their paper. Some of the kids, Morty could hear, quickly colouried in their bubbles and proceeded with the next few pages, their fingers flipping between the pages confidently. God, he was so fucked. He couldn’t do anything and there he was, sitting with people who had the same problems or similar problems as he did, but doing way better than him. He had no excuse to not be able to do this paper. His face grimaced as Morty forced himself to look at the second question.

_Selhv es eatiuons sIouultanelumy: 2 + yx 5 = 9, nad, 6y -  = x4._

This was it. He couldn’t do it. All the words jumbling around and mixing up began to hurt his head and he could feel a migraine coming to his eye. Even if he could read them, he probably wasn’t even smart enough or studied enough to even solve it. Thank god for everything being in multiple choice though. Morty grabbed hold of his pen and began colouring in his “answers”. He didn’t even look at the options to see which would be the most likely answer. He wasn’t able to after all. He gripped onto his pen harder. _C. A. B. D. D. C. B. A. A. D..._ He zoned off through the letters; his mind was numb and silent from the growing migraine coming through and piercing his head. At least he wasn’t tearing up from the frustration. That would’ve been embarrassing.

After filling in the last question, he yawned and quickly scribbled his name on the front. Jeez, he was so damn tired. Whether it be from staying up or from boredom or anything else, he just really wanted to nap. He folded his arms and his head weighed into the bend of his elbow. His eyes shut with ease and he began to drift away into brief sleep.

——

Morty jumped from the sound of the school bell piercing through the quiet examination atmosphere. ‘God, has it already been over?’ he thought, groaning from his exhaustion. ‘It felt like it had only lasted for 10 minutes.’ He looked down at his paper again and saw all the randomly coloured bubbles of multiple choice answers. Good. But also not good. What if all the choices he filled in were wrong? Oh no… And this exam was going into the report mark too. Fuck! Oh god, why did he take that fucking nap? He was so stupid!

“Alright, everybody, pens down.” Mr Goldenfold took out one earphone and paused whatever episode of _The Days and Nights of Mrs Pancakes_ he was on. What even was so exciting about the show was a mystery. Most of the time, the main character, Mrs Pancakes, didn’t do anything but push everyone away with her signature _‘You don’t know me.’_ His eyes scanned the room. “Hand your papers in now. If I see anybody still writing, that’s a zero for you. Now, come on, now.”

Likewise to everyone else, Morty stood from his desk and tossed his paper on top of the messy pile of other exam papers. The chatter of his class peers followed him out.

“Did you put A for question 21? The one where it asked about the three simultaneous equations?”

“Uh, no. I put in B, where _a_ is equal to 2, _b_ is 4, and _c_ is 1.”

“Shit, really? I thought it was A, unless I read the question wrong…”

Morty’s stomach twisted and churned. His feet moved faster away from the voices. For a moment, he could’ve felt his previously faded migraine come back. God, he just wanted to get out to his next class. No. He just wanted to get this day over and go home. Everything was draining and it was only the beginning of the day.

—————

Although the math test was over and Morty was able to spend the rest of his day destressing and shutting out arguments outside his door, soon came the other exams and assignment due dates following without him even knowing. This meant more randomly coloured bubbles and blank short answer questions and failed attempts in finishing long responses, all to which were counted into his report. He knew he was fucked but distracted himself to forget about them. If he were to sit there and ponder, his mind would move to… darker things… and that was the last thing he wanted to think of. So instead of stressing over it now, he irresponsibly decided to forget all about it. However, he also forgot that this was only a short term solution, for it was only a couple weeks after that he received his first semester report.

This series of events were what brought Morty to this current situation, muffling his ugly sobbing with the sleeve of his jumper in a cubicle that smelt the same as how he felt.

Most of the toilets in the cubicles either didn’t have a toilet seat or didn’t have any doors. Morty remembered hearing a rumour that Michael’s circle of friends decided to take a toilet seat each and take them home, for some strange humorous joke. There was graffiti everywhere with penis drawings and swearing and sexual images all over the walls, and sometimes, some parts of the ceramic bowl also had some writing. Some of the bowls were also just destroyed beyond use. Thankfully, there were still a couple cubicles with relatively un-demolished toilets. Yet, how the boys in this school managed to break and depreciate almost everything in the boys toilets was a mystery that Morty did not really want to know. In a way, it was comical to see that Principal Vagina had tried to fix the restroom multiple times, and this did not solve the problem at all, with more male students bringing home more toilet seats. Actually, when he thought about it. The boys toilet was everything that defined Morty: horny half the time, mostly destroyed and hopeless with futile attempts to fix it, and shit in general.

With it still being the lunch period, he had to keep quiet. If Jamie or Fred or some other bully heard him whimper hopelessly in a relatively private place where they could bully him with no consequences (not that the teachers present really cared if they bullied him in the hallways), his day would go from shit to shittier. Thankfully, none of those boys came. Sometimes, there was the occasional person walking in to use the urinal or a toilet, but he was glad that none of them heard him sniffling.

As time slowly ticked to the end of the lunch break, less people walked in, allowing Morty to lower his guard down for longer. He took a deep breath. Most of his stuttering breath and sobbing has eased down, thankfully, and he released his hands from the white-knuckled fist he held. He grabbed a couple of toilet tissues and blew his nose into it, disgusted by the large amount of mucus collected, and threw it into the toilet, flushing it as it landed in.

“Fuck,” he breathed out angrily. He hated crying. Absolutely hated it. It made him feel terrible as if he wasn’t sad enough or had enough problems to be crying. This excuse was a load of shit, he knew that with the logical part of his mind, but the other parts of his head were sure convincing enough to tell him otherwise. If he cried, he’d get pity that he didn’t deserve or get pointed out further as a _problematic_ person and he’d be forced into doing counselling or have a phone called to his parents that he needs to go to therapy, in which would lead to more debt and more money wasted on him. That was the last thing he wanted.

He took out his phone. 12:50pm. Five more minutes till lunch ended. He did not look forward to coming into Geography class with puffy eyes and a red nose knowing that he failed in that class and had cried because of so. He’d skip the period and go into the nurses office but he couldn’t risk missing out more content that he’d have to catch up on. God, this was all his fault.

Morty sat, staring into the blue tiles of the floor. He could see the small growths of mold dotting the perimeter of these small squares. In his peripheral vision, he could still see his report crinkled and messily shoved down his unzipped bag. Even he failed at keeping the report straight and not as a crinkly mess. He sighed and grabbed it, avoiding his eyes from focusing onto the paper. With nail-bitten fingers, he flattened some of the creases as best as he could. Then, absentmindedly, he turned the pages, rereading the comments of his teachers for the respective subject. Why he did this, he didn't know. Guessed he just didn't care anymore.

_Mortimer Smith Sr. is a quiet student who has lacking capabilities in focusing in class. His inability in keeping notes and lack of study ethics has caused him to be unable to complete in the English assignment in the standard that was expected. He seems unwilling to bring himself to participate more actively in his class discussions and develop a better study ethic, which has brought forth such disappointing results. If Mortimer Smith was to apply himself within the work, he will surely improve, however, it is unlikely that he will be able to catch up with the rest of the students as a consequence for his failure of keeping note since the beginning of the semester._

_Mrs. L. Coletti_

He let out a large breath of air through his nose as he felt his heart sink. As much as he didn’t like Mrs Coletti, she was right. During her lessons when reading Macbeth and analysing concepts and themes, he didn’t really pay much attention. Her voice, rough and firm from her past experiences in teaching (as further supported by her greying hair), would drone off about the tragedy that was Macbeth, and how his hamartia of ambition brought his doom, and continued on about how Lady Macbeth was the cause of the events. Everyone else didn’t really look interested either, but at least they listened. Morty just spent most of his time having her words slip into his mind and dissipate as it reached, having him uselessly try to remember what she just said. His hand would hover slightly from his desk but he never asked her anything. He would, but he knew she would be annoyed if he asked her to repeat what she just said. It was better to just go with the flow.

He turned to the next page, reading the comment without a prick of emotion to experience and turned again to read the next. He continued till he reached over to Mr Rosner’s report.

_Mortimer Smith has great potential to succeed very well in the chemistry syllabus._

‘What a load of absolute bullshit’ he thought. He knew he didn’t have any potential at all. Mr Rosner was giving him a pity comment. God, he didn’t deserve this. Morty forced himself to continue reading.

_This can be seen through the homework he has given in throughout the first semester to which he has attempted to illustrate concepts of chemical and physical properties of elements and the trends that are present in the periodic table. It is only his struggle in effectively communicating of these concepts that has caused his efforts to be undermined by this grade. With extra assistance in his work, Mortimer Smith can prove to be a knowledgeable student._

_Mr. A. Rosner_

Morty’s heart lurched and he could feel his eyes get teary again. He left his report on his lap to smear away his forming tears. After all the times when his teacher would ask him whether he needed any help with understanding the concepts, Morty was so stubborn and just had to not let his pride down. If he gotten the help, he could’ve actually done better. He could’ve proven to himself and to everyone that he wasn’t as hopeless as to what everyone had thought. He could’ve actually did well and learned better and do everything better, but no. He just had to fuck it all up. God, he was such an idiot. This was all his fucking fault and there was no one that he could blame it on. He curled up on the toilet. His breathing, once calmed, had set back to the staggered, uneven rhythm he once went through, and he scrunched up his eyes with furrowed eyebrows. Jesus, he was pathetic. He couldn’t even stop crying half the time. There were so many others who have the right to be crying and pitiful right now, and yet they continued on with braver strides than what he would ever feel. He had no right to feel this way, just as he had no right to even get any help. He didn’t need help. He was just a sexually frustrated teenager who kept thinking about Jessica than pay attention to his work. He absolutely hated it.

The school bell rang its piercing screech and Morty could hear everyone outside making their way to their lockers and to their respective classes. There was no way he was getting outside. Not when he was like this—sad and pathetic. Loathingly vulnerable. It seemed like he was skipping Geography after all. He could go to the nurse’s office and say that he had an allergic reaction to something and spend the rest of the school day there. That seemed like a plan. He just had to wait a little bit longer before he could go outside. Morty hefted his bag up to his lap, crunching the report slightly, and hugged it close.

Gradually, the noise of students faded until he could hear nothing else. Good. Time to move. With another blow of his nose with some more toilet tissues, he stood from his seat and disposed of it, holding his bag and putting his report back in it. However, just as he was about to zip it up and pace his way to the nurse, there a loud thud against the bathroom door. Morty peered through the gap between his cubicle door and the wall of the adjacent cubicle next to him. A couple, as he could see, stumbled their way inside. One of them, a female with brown hair, giggled as she was pinned against a wall. Wait, he knew that laughter. That was Tricia Lange! He climbed on the toilet seat and peered over the wall carefully to watch.

“Baby, I can do anything you want me to,” the male partner purred. “Trust me, that Ethan guy can’t even stand up to what I can do.”

“Oh Rick, you’re so charming. How do you do it?” Tricia asked.

Wait shit, that was Rick! He was in Morty’s Chemistry and Physics classes either three seats left or two rows back of him. He was going out with Tricia? With the Tricia Lange? God, not only was he a genius in his academics (Morty would see his group of rowdy friends—all who were also popular—exclaim about how jealous they were with Rick’s good marks and ask him to tutor them) but he was also able to hook up with a popular girl in the junior year? Morty felt like he was caught up in celebrity tabloids. He brought his focus back towards the two.

“I find my ways.” Rick smirked and placed his lips upon hers, a hand resting on her waist and the other pinning her down.

Kisses had escalated quickly into hungry grabs at their lips, the sound of the two being the only noise that Morty could hear. A small moan from Tricia escaped her lips as Rick slipped his tongue into her mouth, his left hand snaking its way down to grab her leg and wrap it against his waist. He leaned further into her, pushing his chest closer into her. They continued to make out sensually, unaware of Morty’s eyes watching them carefully.

To admit it, Morty had a couple fantasies of going out with Tricia a couple of times. She, after all, was a popular and really attractive girl. Practically every boy in the school had at least one fantasy of going out with her. But the fact that Rick, a sophomore who skipped a grade too, was going out with a junior was mind bending. For a moment, a tinge of jealousy creeped its way into Morty’s heart. Of course Rick could hook up with her. He was practically the perfect guy; he was smart, flirtatious and socially powerful. Morty heard that he was strong—being involved in fights since he came to Harry Hepson—and he was not one to cross. Apparently his moods always shifted and he was just absolutely unpredictable. No one knew when he came to the school or where he had came form. Everyone liked him. He was mysterious. He was thrilling. Exciting. Interesting. Alluring. He was nothing like how Morty was. God, was he jealous. However, this jealousy quickly dispersed when Morty realised his new problem.

He still needed to make it to the nurse. If he didn’t, he’ll be written off as truanting and he’ll fail at lying to why he was skipping class (“Oh, uh, I-I think the teacher just forgot, I guess?”) and his parents will tell and he’ll never hear the end of it. Shit, he needed to get out. But he didn’t want to be spotted either. If either one of them saw him, he was dead. Not to mention, he’ll be seen as a creep and the whole sophomore and junior grades will know. Not only will he be the problematic kid, he’ll be the school pervert. He’ll have a reputation suicide! No one will ever talk to him or even look at him. Jessica will think so lowly of him. What if the teachers he had found out? Oh god, they’d hate him and treat him like shit and they’ll never help him if he ever asked questions. Mr Rosner would be absolutely disgusted with him! Jesus fuck, what kind of situation was he even in? It was almost like a sick joke as if he wasn’t having enough problems already.

He climbed down from the toilet seat, his feet carefully dipping down and making soft contact with the floor. It looked like he just had to truant until the couple finally left. But hearing how they continued on, Morty doubted that they’d be finishing any time soon. He sat there waiting. His ears could only hear Tricia breathily whispering loudly about all the things that she wanted Rick to do. Something to do with docking? What even was docking? God this was weird. Even if he had fantasies, it was weird. Never had Morty ever felt like leaving so fast out of there. But he had to hold himself together. He just had to wait for it to be over.

He brought out his phone and checked the time again. 1:00pm. It was going to be a long day. His fingers swiped to look at the notifications on his phone. Nothing really important. Just a couple notifications of new YouTube videos and new posts on Instagram and so forth. Wait, he could just watch videos and listen to music and do whatever on his phone while he waited. As long as he was quiet, surely they’d never know.

Morty took out the report and put it back onto his lap again. His hands maneuvered into his bag, feeling through contents of the books and textbooks for earphones. Thank god the bag was unzipped. They’d hear him unzipping his bag for sure, no matter how carefully he did it. ‘Okay, this felt like a box…’ he thought. ‘No… not here… wait, found it!’ Skillfully, he fished them out and began to quickly untangle them. They weren’t of the best quality but they worked. If the sound was loud enough, their noises will be muffled, and since it were earphones, only he could hear. It was perfect! No more weird kissing-making-out noises. No more social suicide. No more looking at Ms Algratti in Geography giving him _that_ look. Just YouTube and music to bring him away from all his problems like how they always did. His rushed fingers inserted the audio jack, slipped in one earphone and he began to select his first choice of videos to watch. It was just some gameplay highlights of this new gaming tournament; he could never fully focus on the entire full hour gameplay. He pulled his bag back onto his lap atop of the first semester report and leaned onto it. He turned up the media volume and pressed play.

_“—so the game where they have cont—”_

Morty jumped to pause the video. Fuck, he didn’t plug it in properly! He held his staggering breath and listened in. It was quiet. Did they leave? Was he busted? Fuck! He was dead. He was so fucking dead.

“Who the fuck is here?” Rick growled.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Hey, Rick baby,” Tricia's voice, soft and gentle, spoke, “it’s okay. We can just ignore _—_ ”

“If you’re fucking jacking off to us or watching us like a sick cunt, I will fucking find you.”

Morty’s throat hitched. He could feel his whole body shaking. He fucked up big time. Footsteps came closer and closer. There were loud kicks against the cubicle doors; they swungs into the cubicle walls, echoing the force. Rick’s approaching presence prickled goosebumps on Morty’s skin. He was so fucking dead.

“Come on, Rick.” Tricia called out. “It probably wasn’t anything.”

God, he was right next to Morty. He could hear the fuming breath of Rick come out like a dragon holding its wrath. Morty scrambled to pull his legs up from view, struggling with his massive bag in the way. Fuck, he was going to be spotted. His eyes welled up and he was breathing unsteadily into his sleeve. He just wanted to go home.

Rick stepped over in front of Morty’s cubicle. Rick’s shoes were visible from the gap between the tiled floor and the door that separated the two. First, there was a push against the door, but the lock didn’t budge. Then, he saw the legs twist and lunge, the crash of body against the painted wood.

“You in there, you sick shit?” Another bang against the door. “Trying to jack it off when I’m making out with my girl _—_ is that what you fucking like, you fucking creep?” Rick’s fist striked the door. “Open up!”

Tears ran down Morty’s face. Fuck, everything was all his fucking fault. If he didn’t stay in here and went out at the bell he wouldn't’ be here. If he just left fucking didn’t fail with all those assignments and exams he wouldn’t be here. If he just wasn’t such a fucking piece of shit, he wouldn’t be here. Everything was all his fault. And this was his consequence. Now everyone would know that he was a fucking piece of crap. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he deserved to be pointed out as a troubled kid, as a perverted, disgusting shit, as someone who shouldn’t even be alive. Fuck, he really wanted to die right now. Anything to get away from where he was.

“Open the fucking door.” Rick’s stern voice called out to Morty.

“Don’t you think that’s enough already?” Tricia placed her hand on Rick’s forearm. “It’s okay, Rick. Honestly.”

He ignored her. “I’ll give you three seconds. One.”

“J-Just fu-fucking leave me—leave me alone.” Morty whimpered, his voice shaky from trying to talk through his sobbing.

“Two.”

Fuck it. What was the point. Morty was dead anyway. Why should he open up the door when he’ll be dead to everyone in the future.

“Three.”

Rick shook his arm off of Tricia’s hold as he paced to the cubicle adjacent to Morty. He stepped on the seat with an angered huff and began to climb his way over the wall, his hands heaving his body up, feet against the wall, and his eyes now able to see the intruder. Morty’s attention ripped from his misgortune to the loud contact of shoes against the wall adjacent to him. His brown eyes trailed over to the top of the wall, catching themselves in the clear blue eyes of Rick.

To what Rick could see, the kid was curled into a ball, visibly shaking, eyes fixed onto him, and if he could hear closely enough, whimpering like a pathetic child. Fuck people who do that. Rick absolutely hated people like that. People who wouldn’t do anything or man up and just cry like the pussies they were. It reminded him of all the people who scuttled towards him, floating around him like flies. They would just hang around him and complained about their lives. As if they faced any hardships. What a fucking insult.

Rick climbed the wall, vaulted his body onto the other side and landed professionally. He turned to face fully at Morty who went to curl further up into a ball, covering his head with his hands. Rick took a moment to see the person in front of him.

He was small. If he could estimate, if the person in front of him uncurled, Rick would be at least half a head taller than him. Probably a freshman. God, he hated freshman students. They were the most annoying out of all the grades. They kept going on about how excited they were about their teenage romance and hoping about how brilliant their puny, insignificant lives would be. Stupid ignorance.

A faint croak escaped from Morty’s lips. “P-please, I-I-I-I—” His voice was frail, as if Rick could break it with no effort. Morty’s fingers gripped tightly into his hair. “—I won’t tell, please don’t hurt me.”

“What’s your name.” Rick huffed out in irritation. It was going to be this again. A crying kid begging for his forgiveness. This was what distracted his time with Tricia? At first he was furious, thinking that it was some gross senior trying to jack it off to him and her together. But now, this was just sad. Just absolutely pathetic. He waited for a name through the sobbing but only staggered breaths and desperate gasps of air answered him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus fucking christ, stop crying, you fucking shit. All I’m asking is your name.”

“Rick, leave him alone.” Tricia called out to him. “He’s had enough. I’m going out if you ain’t.”

Rick groaned. Fucking hell, he was just in the mood and now it was ruined. He turned his head towards his awaiting partner. “Tricia, don’t leave yet, baby. I’ll be done in a second.” He focused back to Morty.

“Your name? Do you have one?" He urged.

“Mo-Morty—Morty S-Smith.”

Morty’s voice was as shaky as his body. Jeez, what kind of name was Morty. Were the parents drunk when they got him? It almost felt bad to keep this up. Rick was tired of hearing his crying—reminded him too much of all his past experiences of trying to cheer people up. He was never a comforting person. The best empathetic comment he could give was a half-hearted ‘Wow, that sucks’ or ‘I’m sorry’. Okay, let’s see what he had. So far, he had a girlfriend who was waiting for him and a Morty struggling to keep himself together. If he left the kid, he wouldn’t be able to get back into his previous mood with her and they’d have to spend the rest of the day doing something else entirely boring and brainless. Not to mention, the kid gets to be scot free from bothering him. No one goes off without punishment for bothering him. But if he were to stay longer, Tricia would probably leave without him and ditch him to stay with Morty who was not worth his time. God, how annoying.

Rick tightened his hands into fists. “Fine.” An irked sigh released from him. “Fucking fine. The next time I see you, I’ll deal with you. I’m sick of this.” He turned the lock and walked out to Tricia, who waited at the cubicle door. Just before he could look over his shoulder to see Morty again, the small brunette ran off as swiftly as his legs could, gripping his heavy bag and phone as if his life counted on it, to which it kinda did. He took a hard lunge into the restroom door, a sharp left and immediately disappeared from sight.

“Did you really have to scare him off like that?” Tricia gave out a sigh. “He sounded like he was having a really bad time.”

“As if he knows what a bad time even is.” Rick replied bitterly.

“Rick, being sad isn’t a competition. There isn’t a prize to see who has the worst experience. I thought you were mature enough to know that.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “So what do you want me to do? Apologise for scaring him because I was angry? The kid is going to grow up in a world where he’s always going to be yelled at for everything. Here, he hasn’t experienced anything.”

“Really? You can’t even muster up a bit of empathy to know that he felt absolutely terrible from sneaking up on us? From his reaction, it doesn't even look like he even meant to do so at all.” She stepped away from Rick. “I thought dating you could let me see the part of you that was caring and loving, but I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. I don’t think we’ll work out after all.”

Tricia strode over towards the entrance, ignoring Rick’s attempts of calling to her. However, she paused. In the corner of her eye, she saw a corner of paper, bright white standing out from the ocean of blue tiles. “Wait, what’s this?” She stepped into a cubicle and fished out a crinkled booklet. It was on a page showing his Chemistry mark. She flipped the pages to the front. “Mortimer Smith, first semester report. Oh, poor boy. He left his report behind.”

“Why should you care?” Rick walked quickly towards her, peeking at the front page of the report. 10HR8. Huh, he was a sophomore, not a freshman. Not that that was any better.  “It’s just a report. It’s not that important.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Who cares what you think. For him, it could be really important. I’m gonna go find him and give it to him. If you’re not going to help, then go away. I don't want to deal with you anymore.”

“W-wait, baby. Look, I’ll make it up to you.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Since he’s in my year, it’ll be easier for me to give it to him since we share the homeroom building. I’ll apologise for making him feel bad. But seriously, come on; we were having a moment and I was annoyed that it broke off so prematurely. Could you really blame me?”

Tricia gave him a look, pursing her lips together. “Fine. But if I see you hurting him over this, I’m blocking you. I’ll also tell everyone else about what you done.” Hesitantly, she passed over the report to him. “I expect you to give it to him by Thursday. If I find that you haven’t I’ll also block you and let everyone know.”

“I swear it on my life.”

“You better.” She left the boys restroom without looking back at Rick.

How fucking annoying. Not only was he no longer dating one of the hottest girls of the school, but now he had to give this fucking shit-stain his stupid report. He had to spend his precious time to give this bloody report back to the boy because he was too stupid to remember bringing it with him. If it were so important to him, he wouldn’t have forgot about it. Forget it. He had bigger things to take care of now.

Now, he had to look for a Morty fucking Smith.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, welcome to my first fic in this fandom! 
> 
> Firstly, I was going to just title this fic "Reach" like some artsy person, but then one night, I had the strange urge to listen to "Truce" by Twenty One Pilots, and honestly, listening to it again was so beautiful. So beautiful that I absolutely had to add it as part of the title, haha. 
> 
> Anyway, as you may see in the tags, this fic is going to be slow burn (like really slow) so don't expect fast development. Also, there is going to be a lot of suicidal tendencies, anxiety, alcohol and some drug mention as the plot progresses so I'll be putting warnings at the beginning notes to let everyone know what each chapter is gonna have, as well as mark at certain sections to where the warnings will apply. If the warning applies to the entire chapter, I'll note that as well.
> 
> This fic might update really slowly because I have problems keeping to commitments so I'm sorry if it's very slow.
> 
> But anyway, I hope you all enjoyed my first chapter. Have a lovely day, everyone!


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